


Ekstasis

by Chimerari



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Sex for Money, Wall Street Crash made them do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:21:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimerari/pseuds/Chimerari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Bucky did was to peer into the mouth of the envelope – a crisp twenty, as promised – and immediately felt lower than something that got stuck on the bottom of a shoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ekstasis

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Embers, Not Ashes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114259) by [BewareTheIdes15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15). 



He stepped in front of Steve at the last moment; some laughable attempt to shield him from the gleaming eyes, those faces lit by a drawn cigarette, then gone again. Half a dozen, perhaps more, he couldn’t count them.

In the centre of the room there was a couch. Next to it stood a blue-shaded boudoir lamp, the light spilling just far enough to clutch at the edges of the couch. It should have looked welcoming. Neither of them had ever sat their asses down on something so soft, so plush you could probably sink to your elbows in it.

Bucky wanted to shove Steve out of the door and keep running. Damn the money. Damn Whitburne and his derby hat, his low murmur of a voice.

With a shuddering inhale, Steve marched past him. And that was it, Bucky followed. Sat himself down facing Steve and a little to the side, so Steve could leave any time he wanted.

Someone’s pocket watch was making a muffled tick, Bucky’s heart was going twice as fast. _Whenever you’re ready_ , that was what Whitburne had said when he’d slid the envelope across the desk.

God, what was he doing? What was he thinking? Wasn’t enough that he took his clothes off for a bunch of fairies sipping their gin, now Steve—

Steve reached for the collar of his own shirt. The bones in his wrist jutted out sharply. That jolted Bucky into action; it seemed cruel not to help Steve out here, considering. He swayed forward, fumbling at the second button which was re-sewn too tight. Steve’s throat bobbed over the back of his knuckles. It was instinctive to want to ease the way for Steve, to brush a soothing hand over the tense line of his neck.

Once Bucky’s button-down was on the floor and Steve’s was hanging loose around his shoulders, they froze. They’d seen each other in every state of undress, sure. Once in a while one of them might have looked, might have reached out to touch--only when they were dead tired, or sloshed to hell, mind you. But there had never been such certainty of _more_.

Back out, get up and walk away, Bucky thought, the words shrivelled up behind his teeth. His heart leapt when Steve did open his mouth.

‘How…’ the vowel got lost in a dry swallow, ‘…how do you want me?’

Christ, what a question. How about not here, not like this. How about on weekdays and weekends and…

He could use his mouth on Steve. The thought cut through him with startling clarity. Never had before. It wasn’t something you could offer, no matter how drunk you claimed to be. Girls loved his mouth, went shivery and rubbed their knees together when he bit his lower lip. And he suspected that half the reason Whitburne had stopped him with a job offer was because he’d been chewing on a straw.

Steve’s eyes flickered to the dark corners then back down again. His pants were getting wrinkled from how he was grabbing onto them. Bucky leaned in and rubbed the goosebumped skin on Steve’s arms. He’d never considered his own bulk, how it looked compared to Steve. Now he was glad he could loom, just enough so his shoulders blocked Steve’s sightline.

‘Hey, hey, it’s just me. Just, look at me.’

Steve did. Trained his eyes on him, unblinking. Little by little, his breathing lost that frantic edge. Bucky gave him a chuck under the chin, which earned him a silent huff and a shove.

He slid off the couch and stood. Steve’s arm shot out like he thought Bucky might have changed his mind. Like Bucky could leave him here, his cheeks flushed a blotchy pink. For someone so smart, Steve could be remarkably dense at times. Bucky gave his fingers a squeeze and swung himself around, so they sat back to front. Steve’s bony ass slotted into the V of Bucky’s thighs.

It was for Steve’s benefit, Bucky told himself as he slung an arm across Steve’s chest. The poor guy might sprain something with the way his shoulders were crawling up to his ears. If Bucky’s mouth went dry at the sight of his own hand, scabbed knuckles and tanned wrist, easily pinning Steve in place, well, that was nerves.

Steve melted back into him. Blond head lolled in the dip of Bucky’s shoulder. There was a sharp inhale somewhere to their right. Part of Bucky bristled; who did they think they were? Bastards, the whole lot of them. A fistful of gold rings and they thought they could lay their eyes on what didn’t belong to them?

Another part of him puffed up and stretched under the attention. Instead of Steve’s mulish backbone, the traitor in Bucky saw the fragile skin of his throat, always marked up so easy; the too-pretty shape of his mouth. He put a finger to the underside of Steve’s jaw, nudged until the tendons stood out, until he could close his teeth gently around one. Hummed at Steve’s quiet gasp and tightened his hold.

A hint of dusty pink peeped out from the open front of Steve’s shirt and Bucky flicked the pad of his thumb over the stiff nub. Steve had always liked that; squirmed whenever Bucky brushed against him to peel off some wet clothes, fingers accidently grazing the darker edge. Now, now Steve’s back arched even as he hid his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck. His socked feet skidded along the shiny leather of the couch.

Bucky let his hand wander lower, soaking up the warmth. The taut curve of Steve’s stomach jumped when Bucky scratched blunt nails over his navel, when he dipped his fingers below the scratchy wool to cup Steve through his underpants. Not stroking exactly, just marvelling at the heat, the eager length of Steve, curving up into his palm. The heel of Bucky’s hand glanced over the spot of dampness at the front, and Steve damn near jack-knifed out of his arms. The noise that was punched out of him sounded like the best race records, pure heartbreak and hurt. Arms wound around Bucky’s neck, twisting the damp hair at his nape.

Bucky had managed to ignore the appreciative murmurs all around, but then a rough voice piped up.

‘You gonna fuck him, right?’

Steve stilled, his back went rigid. And Bucky was removing his hand, trying to free himself from the thick fog of want. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, not for money and not for—

Then Steve was turning around in his arms, fitting those slim hips against his, babbling terrible, damning things like _it’s okay, makes sense, please._ Bucky was fighting him for real now. Nothing in this world would be worth hurting Steve over, and it was bound to hurt.

Steve wasn’t letting go though, crowding him in until Bucky had nowhere to go, boxed in by Steve’s eyes; calm like this was something that could be discussed. _Won’t hurt me, I can take it, want you, want you_. The wet tip of his cock dragged over the quivering plane of Bucky’s stomach. They both groaned out aloud.

 _Easy, easy_ , he gripped Steve’s trembling fingers, tugging at his fly. Flattened a hand over Steve’s back and twisted them both around. Steve went with it, stayed put even though he should have scampered for the door, getting away from the monsters, away from Bucky, who was an awful friend, the worst.

Something must have shown on his face. Because Steve surged up. His hands fluttered over Bucky’s face, his neck, some age-old instinct to seek out the tender places—a bruise, split knuckles, a line of jagged skin---touched Bucky the way he would after a fight.

Just like that, Bucky made his mind up. Besides, twenty dollar was more than what he made in three weeks. Steve had just bounced back from a bout of hacking coughs that had cost him the job at the picturehouse. They needed all they could squirrel away now.

Bucky shoved his pants past his hips and stepped out of them. Steve’s eyes dipped down and scrambled back up again. His chest heaved, not the worrying, wheezy kind though. More like when they’d been gripping the handlebar on Coney Island, wind in their ears.

Oh, he wouldn’t know what was coming, blushing and trembling like a bride. Bucky flashed him a grin, which made Steve kick him in the shin.

‘Breathe, Steve, don’t pass out on me now.’

Should have known the one thing that always got through that thick head was a challenge. Steve drew a breath through his nose. His knobbly knees fell open, sweet, trusting.

This had always been Bucky’s favorite part. When he got a girl to hitch her ankles around his hips. No God, no matron, no sweetheart stood in the way, all his.

Bucky had to lean his forehead against Steve’s for a while, just a while. So he could blink the sting out of his eyes, could calm the nervous thump of Steve’s big heart with a line of kisses down his neck.

He reached for the pot sitting at the foot of the lamp. The pot he’d pretended not to see. The salve melted easily, sheeny between his fingers. Bucky winced, knowing where this was going. His stomach flipped in dread.

As prepared as he was, Bucky heard the little noise he made – half surprise, half pained – when he breached himself. His eyes squeezed shut as he fidgeted, trying to work more than the tip in. The angle was wrong, not enough room, and his knees were sticking to the couch.

A hand gripped his wrist that was bent awkwardly. Bucky dragged his eyes open. Beneath him, Steve looked…woozy, mouth opening and closing with no sound. Bucky smiled down at him, trying to say what he had no breath left for: _I got you, don’t worry about a thing._

He wasn’t sure if the buzzing was inside his head or from the audience. Couldn’t see beyond the stunned light in Steve’s eyes. Shifting forward to put more weight on his arm, Bucky tried to fit another finger in.

He never got chance to. Steve was running frantic hands over his sides, up the inside of his thighs, murmuring _let me, I, just_. Bucky shrank back, shaking his head. This was Steve’s first time, he knew full well it was. He wanted to make it good for him, wanted to spare him the seedier parts--the discomfort, the sticky mess.

But Steve was holding fast, dragging the soft inside of his mouth across Bucky’s lower lip. Deft fingers followed Bucky’s until he was tracing the slippery rim. Steve made a noise like he was winded. For a second Bucky went cold; embarrassment, probably, but so sharp it tasted like regret. Then he couldn’t think at all. His body caught between wanting to shy away and sink back. The feel of Steve’s finger, snug next to his own, was pulling sounds, choking, whimpering sounds out of him. Not painful, but it was confusing the hell out of his head. Steve’s other hand was rubbing up and down his back. His concerned face was kind of…really hot. Bucky might never be able to let Steve patch him up again without going liquidy on the inside.

Bucky almost toppled over when he reached for the vaseline again. The motion brought Steve’s finger deeper; his body just opened right up without his brain’s say-so. He didn’t think Steve knew what he was doing. His finger twitched and rubbed aimlessly. But the care with which he was trying, watching Bucky’s reaction closely, was unfair. So, so unfair.

Bucky would rather not spend the rest of the night killing his back just because Steve was being goddamn careful about it.

‘You gotta…’ He took his hand away, leaving a shiny stripe on the back of the couch, and braced both hands above Steve’s head. ‘…give me another.’

Steve was sucking breaths through his teeth. His fingers were slimmer, longer, pressing in with more certainty now. The thought that Steve, his talented hand that traced faces on paper with ease, was inside him, mapping him out with a singular curiosity, made Bucky rock back tentatively, meet the heavy, shivery feeling when Steve widened his fingers once, twice. His own cock, which flagged somewhat at the intrusion, was getting interested again. Bucky gave himself a few tugs, almost swooned back at how good and new and electric it felt.

He wouldn’t last, neither of them would, and he’d be damned if he’d come this far only to shoot off early like a junior. Bucky reached back to take Steve in hand, and levered himself up. He clutched at Steve’s shoulder partly for leverage, partly so he wouldn’t fly apart at the seams.

He missed on the first try, shaking too hard. Steve’s cock slid wetly along the cleft of his ass, nudging right up against his balls. Bucky bit back a curse. Steve thrashed under him, head thrown back. Bucky sucked in a deep breath and leaned forward again, gripping Steve at the base to guide him to the right angle.

The first push felt endless. His innards frantically re-arranged themselves. Bucky wanted to get away but his legs had turned to jelly. His own weight dragged him down. Steve’s right hand twitched on top of his, gripping and relaxing. His left cradled Bucky’s waist, not holding him up much, but it still felt nice, safe.

Somehow, somehow he’d bottomed out. Could feel the rough curls at Steve’s groin. The unrelenting weight inside him squeezed air out of his lungs and salt out of his eyes.

Distantly he heard Steve, asking if he was okay, trying to get _closer_ , touching his wrists, his stomach. Although it sure felt as if he was in Bucky’s head and his throat and making a permanent home for himself inside Bucky.

‘Wait…’

His teeth were rattling with how tight he was grinding them. Steve collapsed back down again, drawing big lungfuls of air.

Bucky meant to ease up, give himself some reprieve. What he managed was to let Steve deeper inside when his knees slid on the damp leather.

It was like stepping into a bath when he was half frozen. Everything came back at once, clamouring for attention: the stretch in his ass, the sticky warmth in his groin, the desperate throb. The pain was still there but he could clamp a hand around it, make it smaller. He wanted to grip onto something, to steady himself, and realized he already was; almost crushing the delicate bones in Steve’s arm, who was waiting like he was told, eyes wide. His voice slowly penetrated the white in Bucky’s head.

‘…hurting you? You gotta, gotta tell me…’

Jeez, never heard anyone bitch so much about having their dick in a warm hole. Bucky gave him what he imagined to be a winning grin. The lower half of his body had apparently overshot pain straight into pins and needles. He didn’t trust his legs just yet, so he inched backwards, careful as he could, taking more weight on his heels.

The whole thing was, okay, it was getting bearable. Not good, but he could work through it. Bucky closed shaky fingers around himself, stroked once from root to tip. Shit, yeah, he could definitely work with it. Bucky was familiar with all things to do with his dick. He was a master. Suddenly this new slice of sensation in his ass was playing havoc on his nerves, making his skin crawl hot and cold.

He knew what he liked when he had a pretty dame sitting his lap. Liked them a little selfish, a little demanding. Loved it when they rode him hard, the silky clutch of their bodies sucking him in. He wanted to give that to Steve. So he took his hand off his cock, braced himself with one arm over the back of the couch, the other gripping the armrest, and pushed up slowly.

Steve let out a breathless _ahh_ as he sank back down again. His pale skin was fever hot, turning a mottled pink from neck down. His eyes roamed over Bucky’s face, his chest, going unfocused even as he blinked rapidly. A stubborn strand of hair stuck on his forehead, which Bucky brushed off. Steve’s mouth fell open at that. Bucky had to make sure.

‘Is this okay? Do you…’

Steve tried to sit up, let out a frustrated sound when he couldn’t reach Bucky. There was a thrill of power in that, knowing Steve wouldn’t be able to move much. He could make it slow, so slow for him, just a teasing squeeze at the right moment--yeah, like that, and make him see stars. What he didn’t expect was how it felt for him, a syrupy warmth trickling down his spine. He did it again just to chase the feeling, and fell forward with a groan, his arms giving out. Steve squeaked. Bucky cupped the back of his head and traced the curve of his ears, meaning to apologize, but somehow finding himself catching Steve’s lower lip, soft and slack and letting Bucky in with a noise like he was downing a soda on a hot day.

Plastered from shoulder to hip like this, Steve had more room. Bucky swore when he felt the weight inside shift, a faint smack when their bodies met. Oh, oh, that felt…bad, obviously, not at all what he was supposed to want, rattling his bones and scraping his insides raw. Raw and bruised and he was already following the restless way Steve was shoving up, no rhythm or grace. He just needed, needed it in and deep and.

Bucky’s thighs were shaking with effort. Steve dug blunt nails into his skin, leaving little pinpoints of sting. His eyes drifted half-shut like he couldn’t bear it, but he had to watch, not wanting to miss a thing. Bucky had one panicked moment to wonder what he looked like, like he’d run a mile, perhaps, sweaty and panting. He couldn’t really do much anymore, too wound up. Not that Steve minded, judging from the broken pleas, his mouth open and catching on Bucky’s stubble.

‘Close, so close, I…’

Bucky wanted to say yeah, yeah, me too, do it, wanna feel it, God. He could only nod, his cheek pressed flush against Steve’s jaw. His hand reached down, he just needed--

He wasn’t expecting a small hand to ghost down his heaving stomach and close around the bobbing length. Didn’t even need a decent grip, Bucky was already rocking up, up.

It took him by surprise. His muscles locked on a downward stroke. The heat which normally spilled outwards was shooting sparks somewhere behind his navel, wave after wave of it. The solid length of Steve propping him up and splitting him open. Bucky didn’t know how anyone was meant to survive this, this leaden, choking thing.

Then Steve gave a violent shudder. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut at the involuntary twitching, the warmth that started to fill up and leak out of him, slicking the place where they were joined. It set his teeth on edge.

They stayed close, hiding their faces in each other’s neck, trying to breathe, trying to shut out the noises: suede shoes shuffling away, clink of empty glasses, a soft whistle. Bucky was aware that he was crushing Steve, but he didn’t want to leave this bubble just yet. Didn’t want to get up and, Christ, pocket the money and slink away like they’d committed a crime.

They had.

Arms wound round his middle, holding on tight. Could have taken Steve’s disgust, or avoidance, but not this mercy---quick to arrive, undeserved as always. Bucky gave a sniff and peeled himself away. Shivered at the sudden emptiness, the sluggish trickle winding down his thigh.

He’d have turned tail and run if not for the look on Steve’s face: terrified, cracked open. He was sitting up, one arm across his middle. The dark brown of the couch almost swallowed him up.

It was never in Bucky to leave Steve in a ditch. Not the first time, not the last.

He held out a hand, and watched the blue of Steve’s eyes turn cloudless.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to write anything above PG-13 for Stucky, until BewareTheIdes15's fic hit me with the force of a thousand rutting bunnies. So I definitely owe her a fruit basket, or like, a dildo Christmas tree. The downside? the looming marvel bang deadline still looms...  
> Many thanks to Bridget, my beta in residence, and Mirada.  
> [Tumblr me folks](http://rosengris.tumblr.com/)


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